


I wanna make you mine

by wonthetrade



Series: I'm the girl you're always fighting for [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, First Time, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 00:25:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5687479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonthetrade/pseuds/wonthetrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carey gets a shutout in her first game back with the Habs. PK has the perfect way to celebrate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I wanna make you mine

Her first game back is a shutout against the Sabres at home and it’s  _ amazing _ . She’d totally forgotten how awesome it was to be on the ice during a game, The team is more than exuberant as they dance back to the locker room, loud and boisterous and so happy to have all their pieces back in place. First Gally, then her, and it feels amazing. 

Phenomenal, even. 

So Carey lets herself bask in it as she showers and changes, listening to the terrible singing of her teammates before heading off. The visitors’ side of the Bell Centre is much more quiet and subdued and Carey has to take a deep breath when she catches sight of Jack slumping against the wall. 

They’re not friends. Not really; not yet, but Carey had taught Jack to rope a goalie only a couple of days ago and that warranted some sort of female bonding time when they were in the same city. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Carey pauses for a minute to watch Jack, the downward curve of the corner of her mouth and shores up something that isn’t quite courage. “We’re going to do this, get it over with, then we’re going to go be friends, okay?”

Jack’s mouth turns down a little bit more and Carey, well, she’s not the captain for a reason and part of it is that she’s pretty much only amazing at giving PK pep talks. 

“You played a great game,” she says earnestly. Then her smile kicks up a bit. “I’m just really awesome at my job.”

Jack’s mouth quirks up and Carey calls it a job well done. She grins back. “Okay. Ready to head out?”

“Pricey, there you are!”

Carey glances back at PK in confusion. “Hi,” she says. “Jack and I were just about to head out for drinks.” She glances at Jack as PK gets closer. “You could-”

“You know,” Jack interrupts and she’s… backing away? “We’ll do something another time.”

“Jack, no, we-” But she glances back at PK then, catches the look on his face and just… “Oh.”

His eyes are hot and blazing, wanting. Carey feels her heart thump hard, feels the blood pump a little faster through her veins. Jack laughs and Carey’s cheeks flare bright red. 

“Maybe breakfast?” Carey suggests and finds her fingers twitching with the need to reach for PK. Whether it’s to keep him at bay for another few moments or pull him close immediately, Carey’s not sure. 

Jack doesn’t believe her, Carey can see it in her face. “Sure. We can try.”

Carey means to say something else, she does, but PK’s long fingers wrap around her wrist and tug and she…she goes. It’s magnetic in so many ways, ways she’s very familiar with but isn’t so used to in this context.

“Pricey.” His voice is so low, so warm, melts Carey’s stomach in the ways her comfort Hallmark movies talk about but she’s never truly experienced until him. “Carey. You were amazing.”

Carey’s breath catches as he pulls her in, hands big and warm on her back. He’s slipped them beneath her jacket, she realizes and feels her eyelids droop, just a little. Her hand comes up without thought, wraps around the lapel of his ridiculous coat. He bends down, nuzzles against her cheek and neck and Carey bends instinctively, arching her back and giving him more of her neck. 

“You remember what I promised you?” he rumbles into her skin. “When the trainers gave you the all clear?”

He’d promised her not long ago, when she’d been tucked up against him with his fingers between her thighs (the only physical aspect of their relationship he’d been willing to give her because “Hockey, Carey. Hockey first. Always,” which had been sweet and frustrating in equal measure) that when she’d been cleared and when she was back on regulation ice in a game, he’d spread her out and take her apart in every way she asked. 

She shivers at the thought and her fist clenches. He doesn’t even give her shit for the way it’ll leave his suit wrinkled. Instead, his nose nudges against her ear; his mouth brushes against her jaw. 

“Oh my God. Get out of here.”

Carey starts and pulls back out of reflex. PK’s the one who catches her, helps her find her balance as Jack smirks behind them. 

“Yes,” PK agrees because the world hates her and somehow, PK’s quicker to get a hold of himself than Carey. “That’s a great idea Eichel, come on Pricey.”

She laughs, because otherwise she thinks she’ll follow blindly behind him and Jack will never let her live it down. Instead, she carefully slips out of his grip, squeezes his hand before she wraps Jack in a hug. 

“Breakfast,” Carey says and knows there’s a promise in her voice. But Jack’s still smirking, her phone already out and Carey resigns herself to the chirping she’s about to get from the girls. Oh god,  _ Mallory _ . 

“Uh huh,” Jack agrees. “Sure. I’ll believe it when I get a text in the morning.”

Carey has a snarky response, she does because she needs to and because she’s going to take enough shit from the rest of the women when Jack sends out the mass text Carey can all but see her formulating in her head but then PK’s hand is around her wrist and her entire body reorients itself. 

“Got everything?” PK asks quietly as he pulls her back in close like he can’t stand to be too far away from her. She shivers. That voice alone is going to take her apart. 

“Yeah. I’m good. My place?”

The heat disappears for a moment into something softer, something so much more emotional. “You’re the one with food.”

She rolls her eyes but laughs, lets him tilt her head for a kiss. She knows she should keep it chaste, easy, but it delves into something deeper so much faster than she’d thought. His fingers press into her neck just enough for her to feel it without hurting and she lets out a noise. 

“God, I’ve been thinking about that for hours.”

“You kissed me before the game,” she says on a laugh and very valiantly resists the urge to grab him close again. “In front of our entire team.”

“I know,” he says, smirking. “Watching you play didn’t help.” 

Her laugh is bright, maybe a little teasing because  _ of course _ ; of course her hockey would get him going. And that brings the joy back up, the excitement. “PK.”

He barely has to glance back at her to know what’s on her face because it’s threaded through every note in her voice. He stops and turns, still grinning, so bright and excited, proud and triumphant. “I know. Now let’s go celebrate.”

 

She has to sit on her hands in the car and lets PK drive because she’s almost shaking with the combined excitement of the win, her return and PK himself. It’s the only way she can keep her hands off of him, the only way she can keep her sanity intact so they’re not mauling each other as they make it up to her place.

She kicks her game day heels off at the door and digs her toes into the carpet as the dogs come trampling into the hall. His hand slips over her hip from behind, pulls her back. She steps back against him, presses herself against the solid weight of him and sighs for a moment before she leans down to give the dogs her love. It’s still less time than she normally gives them though because PK is right there, shoving their gear bags to the side of the hall, his gaze hot and wanting. It’s a caress in its own right and she moves towards him as she stands. 

“Not here,” he says, catching her wrists. “If we start here, we won’t make it to your room.”

The tremor races through her as she spins, shedding her jacket in the living room to drape it over a chair. She hears PK do the same, turns to see him hopping hilariously on one foot as he tugs his socks off. She lets him come to her then, lets him wrap his arms around her. 

“You really were brilliant,” he says into the skin of her forehead. “God, I almost forgot what you look like on the ice.” 

She flashes for a moment to a picture in his book, that red sketchbook that had started it all, her face determined, but eyes glowing with how much hockey means to her, what it does to her to be on that ice with her team. 

She’s the one who takes his mouth, who bites at his lips. He releases a startled noise but slides his hands until they’re settled on her hips, slides them up her ribs over the silk of her blouse. She fists her hands in his shirt, right over his pecs and tugs a little. It’s enough to get him moving, crowding into her as she maneuvers them down the hallway. The bedside lamp is still on from their pre-game nap, and it casts a tempting shadow over his face when she pulls away to catch her breath. 

He doesn’t seem to have the same need, burying his face in her neck to kiss at her pulse, lick along the tendon that stretches taut as she tilts her head. She moans when he gives her a little bit of teeth, when he uses his nose to nudge her collar out of the way to get at more skin. She closes her eyes and clings to him. 

She’s not sure how long he mouths at her neck, her shoulder, her throat, her collarbones before he says, “Carey. Carey, hey.”

Her eyes flutter open to meet his, to take stock of where they are. He has his hands at the first button of her blouse, breathing fast and his mouth even more swollen than it looks day-to-day. She bites her lip against a moan, against the urge to close her eyes again. 

“Yes?” he asks softly, lowly, quietly. 

Carey doesn’t have to think about it. She’s nodding almost the minute the word finishes, swallowing around the lump in her throat, the way she can’t quite draw a full breath. “ _ Yes _ .”

She expects the pace to pick up then with how long they’ve waited to do this, the anticipation and promise of it when she got the all clear to resume practice, and as this game got closer and closer. She expects it now, with the joy and excitement of the win, of being on the ice, of having hockey and each other. 

It doesn’t happen. 

PK is methodical as he undoes the buttons of her blouse, discarding it. It flutters to the floor and she feels him press his mouth against the notch of her collarbones, down between her breasts. He doesn’t touch her bra, but skims his mouth down further, over her abs and stomach until he hits the waist of her skirt. He looks up at her. 

“Yes?”

“Yes,” she breathes again, her hand stroking over his head, fingertips skimming his ear. 

He slides the zipper down, skims the skirt down her legs and spreads his hands over her hips again. She goes when he nudges her back, letting him guide her until her knees bump against the mattress. 

“Now these,” he says, tucking his fingers beneath her tights. She helps him roll them over her hips, leave her panties in place as he tugs the nylon down her legs. She reaches for him when he tosses her tights aside, settles on the edge of the bed so she can catch his face in her palms, pull his face in for a kiss. 

His hands slide up her legs slowly, fingertips a wonderful tease that leaves her biting at his mouth and moaning to get him closer. Her legs spread automatically as his hands climb further and further up her legs and he shuffles ever closer. His torso is broad, but Carey has no problem with the delicious stretch in her thighs as he presses his chest to hers. His hands skim up her ribs, around to her back and he doesn’t need to break the kiss to get at the clasp of her bra. 

It isn’t until her bra straps are sliding down her arms that she realizes he’s still fully dressed. She reaches for his shirt and PK releases an unhappy sound when she uses her palms to keep him at bay. 

“You’re still dressed,” she manages, eyes fluttering because he’s reached for her breast now, his callouses rough against the petal-soft skin. Her fingers are trembling just a little as she picks at his buttons, forces herself to be careful because he will actually kill her if she rips the buttons off his shirt. He is of no help, his thumb brushing oh so gently over her nipple. It sparks through her nerves on every brush, doubled when he brings his other hand into play. 

“PK,” she moans, and only part of it is pleasure. 

“What?” he murmurs, and he sounds completely in control, completely unfazed. “What do you want, Carey?”

She grips the plackets of his shirt and tugs a little. “Off,” she says, the most she can manage with the way his thumb is flicking over her nipple. She sucks in a deep breath. “PK, I want you naked.”

His whole body shudders, and it’s the first clear sign that she does to him what he does to her. She feels hot in her own skin as he slips away from her, finishes the buttons of his shirt and shrugs it off his shoulders. He doesn’t make an art out of it, strips down efficiently until he’s left in black boxer briefs. Then he’s back with her, like he could barely deal with being that far away, his hands sliding over her arms, nudging her shoulders back. 

“All the way up,” he murmurs, even as he bends down, brushes his mouth against her stomach again, the edge of her panties. 

Wiggling across the bed isn’t elegant by any extent of the imagination, but his hands keep brushing against her stomach, her hips, her thighs, the sensitive inside of her knees, sparking her nerve endings with every brush and she can’t find it in her to even consider complaining. When she’s settled, he reaches for the waistband of her panties and tugs them down her legs, tosses them off the side of her bed. His hands come back to her knees, uses them to spread her open for his gaze. 

“Carey.”

She lets out a little desperate sound that isn’t a moan but not quite a whimper either. PK’s looking at her like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be, no other person he wants to see naked and open and vulnerable like this. She believes he doesn’t, that this is it for him, and it’s so heady.

He leans down, mouth feather light against her kneecap, up the skin of her leg. “Hey,” he says, right into her thigh. Her muscles tremble under his mouth. “Hey, Carey.”

She looks down her body at him, his cheek against her knee where her legs are bent up. Jesus, he’s… 

He presses his mouth to her knee softly. “Tell me. Show me.” 

She doesn’t get it for a moment and he reaches for her hand, tucks his cheek into her palm. 

“Oh.” Her fingers slip over his ear, curve around the back of his head and she nudges him gently. He goes, easy as you please, follows the gentle pressure of her palm against his skull. His mouth is soft against the outer skin of her labia, his stubble brushing roughly against the inside of her thighs. The contrast leaves her shuddering, her head tipping back again. “PK. PK, please.”

She’s not totally sure what she’s asking for. She just wants more. Her chest is full, the cool air of her bedroom is rolling across her chest, pebbling her nipples still stiff from his fingers, from the pleasure and joy of PK. It makes her giggle when she thinks of it that way, when she remembers how many times they could have done this by now, how easy he’s always been for her, and she for him. And then how careful he’d been with her, how important her complete health has been. 

His tongue distracts her, one long lick up the length of her. She groans as she watches him pause, take a moment. She can see his tongue shifting around in his mouth and realizes he’s trying to savour that first lick of her, first taste. Her hips jerk up without conscious thought and he barely flicks a gaze at her before diving in again. He spreads her open with his fingers, licks up the taste of her with steady strokes that are just the right side of teasing. 

Carey’s hands clench in the bedding, her head dropping back and her body arching up. She feels him loop an arm around her thigh, press against her stomach to hold her steady as he circles her clit. She moans and squeezes her eyes closed, lets herself fall into the pleasure that floods through her. He wraps his mouth around her clit and sucks and she cries out.

“More,” she manages to gasp out, her hips rocking into his face. “PK, please, more.” 

She’s reminded once again that he knows her, that he can anticipate what she needs, what she wants. He slides one finger inside her and she clenches reflexively around the feeling. It’s been a while for her, but she’s so wet, already open for him, and after a few gentle thrusts of one finger, he slides a second one in afterwards. His mouth focuses on her clit, dancing around in circles, flicking at it gently while he presses up inside her, strokes and shifts until her whole body goes tense. 

“There it is, eh, Carey?” he asks and his voice is raw, wrecked. Her breath is coming short and fast as he works her up higher and higher, not even really thrusting his fingers so much as rubbing against her g-spot until she’s whining and whimpering. Then he gets his mouth back around her clit and she flies apart with a sharp cry. 

“Oh my God,” she finally gets out as she comes back to herself. She lets her head fall to the side, watches him watch his hands trace random patterns on the still-twitching skin of her stomach. “PK.”

He spares her half a second to smile before he goes back to following the lines of her body. He looks like he’s trying to commit it to memory and she sucks in a deep breath when she thinks about why. 

“Are you going to draw me like this?” she asks in a whisper, thrilled and terrified for the answer. 

He groans and leans in, plunders her mouth and leaves her arching into his hands. “Only if you want me to.” 

She kisses him again rather than answer because it’s an answer she honestly doesn’t have. She turns onto her side and brings her palm to his cheek to hold him there while she kisses him and kisses him. Eventually, she slips her hand down his chest, beneath the elastic of his boxers. The groan he lets out is almost pained and his fingers wrap around her wrist. 

“No,” he says. “I can’t-”

Her cheeks flame because his eyes are closed, his face looking like he’s in pain and she very, very gently slides her hand back out. “PK?”

“I want to fuck you,” he says, eyes opening. “I can’t have both.”

She swallows around the heated lump that has formed in her throat, her mouth dropping open to pant a little when that’s not enough. “Okay,” she says, pushing herself up and reaching for her bedside table. “Yes.”

Carey feels his hand spread against the small of her back as she digs out a condom, shivers when he slides it down over her ass, quickly through where she’s still so wet from her orgasm. She shivers hard and fists the condom in her hand while she breathes through the gentle sparks of pleasure. She looks at him over her shoulder, arches an eyebrow with sassiness she doesn’t really feel, too saturated with everything else. 

“You’re not naked.”

This time, he does make a show of it, hissing as his cock bobs free of the elastic of his boxers. Her eyes stay fixed on the length of him as he shuffles his underwear down his legs and off the side of the bed. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she thinks about taking him in her mouth, swallowing him down and oh yes, they’re definitely going to do that soon.

“Fuck, Carey. You gotta stop that.” 

She blinks up at his face as he reaches for her, reaches for the condom in her hand. She’s silent as he rips it open with his teeth, rolls it on easily.

“Come on,” he says, “come here.” 

She lets him manhandle her onto her back, arches against the hard heat of him as he settles between her thighs. They both reach down for him, guiding him inside and her head presses back into the pillows at the relentless press of him inside her. 

“Fuck, Carey. Fuck, Carey, fuck.” 

She can only moan in response. The part of her that isn’t focused on how good he feels inside her, how full she feels and how wonderful it is to have him above her is trying to process the fact that she’s the one that’s reduced him to her name and profanity. She tilts her hips to take him deeper and he growls deep in his throat, dropping his head to her shoulder. 

“God, Carey, you feel so good.”

“Yes,” she manages to get out, spreading her knees wider and lifting them a little. One of his hands catches her thigh, hitches it up until she wraps it around his hip. “PK,  _ move _ .” 

He does, slowly at first, like he’s making her feel every single inch of him inside her. Her hands clench on his shoulders, slide up until she’s cupping his head. She’s perfectly happy to move with him, to give him control of the speed, the force. Her hips roll against his and he groans, his pace quickening. She doesn’t even know what kind of sounds she’s making as she moves with him, her fingers dancing down his neck to dig into his shoulders. 

PK’s murmuring non-stop against her cheek, how good she feels, how amazing she is, how important it is that this is her, that this is them. She’s trembling with every press of his cock inside her, blindly chasing her second orgasm. She gets it when he shifts his hips enough to get his thumb between them, presses in on her clit and she goes tumbling over the edge. She shakes through the aftershocks too, trembles while he fucks her through her orgasm and finds his in the process. 

He’s beautiful when he comes, she finds herself thinking, her hands gentle on his skin now. She strokes up his back when he collapses on top of her, the light brushes making him shiver. When he comes back to himself, she feels him kiss her shoulder, her neck, her jaw. 

“Carey.”

She hums, nudges his head up until she can kiss him softly. He breaks the kiss reluctantly, nuzzles against her cheek for a moment before levering himself up and carefully off her. She sighs and shivers in the cool air of her bedroom, lets her eyes fall closed as she listens to him pad into the bathroom to dispose of the condom. 

“Hey,” she hears, and forces her eyes open and on him. “You want to shower?” 

She holds her hand out and he laughs softly as he comes for her, leans down to kiss her first. She yelps when he slides his arms beneath her back and her knees, lifting her into his arms. 

“You’re going to break your back doing that,” she says, though she snuggles her head into his neck. He sets her on her feet on the tiles and reaches for the water. Carey catches sight of herself in the mirror, the mess of her hair, the flush of her skin. His skin is such a contrast with hers as his arm comes around her waist, pulls her in close to kiss her shoulder. She turns in his arms to kiss him again. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “That was definitely worth the wait.”

He laughs quietly into her mouth and kisses her again, long and deep. His hands stroke over her skin when he pulls back a little, rubbing at the curve of her shoulders. “You really were fantastic out there tonight,” he says. “I don’t think I realized how much we need you in net and how much I miss you when you’re not. Condie’s great, but he’s not you.” 

Her hand comes up to cup his cheek. “I love you.”

His smile is everything. “I love you, too.” 


End file.
